A Month Later
Living with Xander had settled into something familiar—comfortable, chaotic in the best ways, and still, at times, overwhelming. Some days, we were entirely in sync, passing each other in the kitchen, trading jokes, stealing each other's coffee, and arguing over what to watch. Other days, we got on each other's nerves so much that I had to take a walk just to breathe. It was a delicate balance, but somehow, we always managed to find our way back.
But there was something shifting. Something neither of us had acknowledged out loud.
It was in the way we lingered in conversations that should've ended five minutes ago. The way his hand would brush against mine absentmindedly. The way I caught him looking at me sometimes, like he was trying to figure something out that he couldn't quite say.
And then there were nights like this.
Xander was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him, fingers lazily tapping at the keyboard. I was on the couch, curled up with a book, but I hadn't turned a page in at least fifteen minutes. The air felt heavy—not in a bad way, but in a way that made me hyper-aware of every shift, every glance.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn't wrong. "I was just thinking."
"Dangerous," he teased, finally closing his laptop. "Thinking about what?"
I hesitated. You. But I wasn't about to say that.
"Nothing important," I said instead, stretching my arms over my head. "Just how weird it is that we haven't killed each other yet."
Xander smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, give it time. You still haven't caught me leaving my laundry in the hallway for three days straight."
My eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you're joking."
"I guess you'll find out tomorrow," he said, grinning.
I grabbed a pillow from the couch and launched it at him. He caught it easily, laughing as he tossed it back. "You're the worst," I muttered, shaking my head.
"You love it," he said, almost too casually.
I paused, my fingers gripping the pillow. The way he said it—it wasn't teasing, not really. There was something else there, something that made my heart stutter for half a second.
I could've brushed past it. I should've. But instead, I met his gaze, tilting my head slightly. "Do I?"
For once, Xander didn't have a quick response. He just looked at me, his smirk fading into something quieter. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but then he exhaled sharply and shook his head.
"Never mind," he said, standing up and stretching. "I need sleep before you challenge me to a fight or something."
I watched him walk toward his room, something twisting in my chest.
"Goodnight, Xander," I called after him.
He paused at his doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. His lips quirked up slightly, but his eyes were unreadable. "Goodnight, Maya."
I sat there long after he disappeared into his room, the apartment feeling both too big and too small all at once.
4o